


Strength in Adversity

by woodsong_1978 (Vae)



Category: Firefly
Genre: Afterlife, Haunting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-09
Updated: 2006-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/pseuds/woodsong_1978
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mal wasn't supposed to be killed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strength in Adversity

**Author's Note:**

> Another post for my [](http://au-abc.livejournal.com/profile)[**au_abc**](http://au-abc.livejournal.com/) [table](http://woodsong-1978.livejournal.com/14415.html#cutid9) (scroll down). I couldn't bear to kill anyone again, so this is another look at the events of [Where You Lead](http://community.livejournal.com/the_pretty_fits/60534.html), the Bangsian prompt. Somewhat experimental writing style. Sorry! Xiexie to [](http://lvs2read.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lvs2read.livejournal.com/)**lvs2read** for her marvellous beta job.

You know he's there (he knows you're there). You always know. He gives off an energy, a nervous tension, a buzz. You know he's there. Still, it's a surprise when he comes in (he doesn't expect you to come in).

You look away from your notes (he looks up and sees you, he knows you're there). He grins, comes closer, pulls you into his arms. You don't resist (he doesn't resist), you want this (you want this). You stretch up to kiss him (his mouth meets yours) and the ship around you fades (nothing but you and him). No sounds, no voices, no interruptions, just you and him (him and you) touching and needing again.

He lifts his head (you don't let go) and grins (that look, that smile, that promise). You can't not respond (you won't walk away) because it's him (it's him).

"What's this in aid of?" you ask.

"Can't a man just kiss his lover because he wants to?" he says, with that twinkle in his eyes.

You laugh (he laughs) because it's absurd and logical at the same time. Like him. "Of course, but I don't usually see you again so soon after we get up." You wrap your arms around his back (his hands on your skin, his breath on your neck, his body against yours) and kiss him back.

"Gotta job," he mumbles between kisses (his hands are moving, touching you, stroking you, teasing you). "Wanted to tell you 'fore we go. Found us a buyer for that ore we been carryin' close on a month now. Gorram it, Simon, you don't stop distractin' me, gonna lose this buyer 'cause you an' me are gonna have urgent business elsewhere. Like here."

You step back (he steps back) and straighten his shirt (his fingers linger on your collar). "Not that that would be an issue for me, but you have work to do, Captain. Before play. Didn't you tell me that one time?"

"Work before play." He sighs. "Later?"

"Later," you promise (it's a promise). "Try not to turn it into a fight this time." (he's worried about you).

"I don't start it!" he protests (you know he's teasing).

"Like you didn't start this?" You raise an eyebrow at him (you want to reach out and touch his face, it's not the time).

"Nah, you did that. Lurkin' in here an' lookin' all temptin'." He grins.

You turn away, looking back over your shoulder (still watching you). "I don't lurk."

"You ain't denyin' the temptin'."

"I wouldn't want to." You duck your head (can't hide that smile). "Go, Mal. Work."

"Orders?"

You roll your eyes (you hide your grin). "No. You give the orders. I just follow them. Remember?"

His eyes light up (you remember the last night). "Oh, yeah. I remember. Gotta go. Love you, Simon."

"I love you, Mal." You watch him go (you feel his eyes). 

You know when he leaves.

***

It's the sound of the gunshot brings him out. Always does. Don't seem to matter how many times the captain tells him to keep out of sight, sound of shooting brings the doctor through to wherever it's happening sure as it gets Wash running through. Still, Zoë had been hoping that this time might be different, 'cause if there's one thing a man should never have to see, it's the sight of his lover lying on the floor of his ship with his brains leaking out. Hell, it ain't something a woman should have to see of her best friend either.

Wash, though, he's got some sense. Keeps hidden. Stays out of the way, up on the catwalks. Don't draw attention to himself. The doctor can't help but draw attention, though. Man stands out. He stops for a moment in the doorway, taking in the scene, and then he walks through into the bay, right into the middle of the ugly situation, right up to the captain's body. He takes one look at Mal, one look, and nothing shows on his face. It's empty. When he looks up at Zoë, his eyes are empty too, like no one's home.

"How much?" he enquires in a clipped voice.

She lets herself glance at the body one more time, then over at the crates of ore waiting to be traded. "Forty-five plat. Each." She's upped the figure a bit. Figures they owe extra for the cost of a captain can't ever be replaced.

"Forty-five." The doctor turns his empty gaze onto their contact. Rafe's brought four men with him as back-up, and the one that shot the captain's grinning like he's in control of the situation. He ain't. Zoë ain't sure who is in control here any more, but she's got a sneaking suspicion it could be the doctor. "Well, I think we'll be needing to increase that, since you've decided to add something to your take that was never under offer." There's some kind of fluid Zoë can't identify creeping towards his highly polished shoes, but he never moves.

The man with the gun lifts his weapon cockily. "What makes you think we're gonna be payin' for any o' this?"

She sees the doctor's eyes harden to chips of ice. "Jayne," he raps out.

Jayne's got this scowl on his face. Most likely at the thought of taking orders from the doctor, but he ain't going to argue. He just raises Vera, aims and shoots in one easy action, and the man who killed the captain's lying on the floor just as dead, a neat hole in his chest.

The doctor smiles coldly. "Fifty plat per case. And I think you'll want to take all of it."

Rafe stares at the corpse of his man and nods frantically.

***

Wash can't believe his eyes. He really can't. Not just that Mal's been killed. That's a shock in itself, though it was something that he supposed was pretty much inevitable at some point given the way the man ran his life. It's something Wash is going to deal with later, because right now, it's just too much of a shock. That and the way Simon's acting. 

If it had been Zoë down there, Zoë's body sprawled out, cooling and lifeless, in the cargo bay, Wash would have been down there on his knees, touching her, kissing her, begging her to come back, breaking down, needing her back with him, aching for the sight of her warm brown eyes and the quirk of her full lips and the touch of her hand on his face. But it wasn't Zoë, it was Mal, and that was Mal's lover standing there like a...like a robot or something, ignoring the corpse at his feet. And talking and acting and giving orders and...and then the contact's counting coins out into Zoë's hand. 

The contact's back-ups pick up the crates and load them on the back of the wagon they've got waiting outside, and Simon's still standing there, not doing anything, just watching them, never once looking down at Mal, like he doesn't care one bit. But Wash knows he cares. Knows Simon cares one hell of a lot more than most of the crew even suspect, and it's common knowledge around Serenity that Mal and Simon love each other nearly as much as he and Zoë do. Wash knows exactly how much Simon cares though, and how long he's been caring for, because of one night back even before River died when one of their shared card games had ended up with Simon drinking more than he should and spilling out his longings across the table along with his cards and the contents of his final glass.

The contact backs out of the cargo bay. All of the crates are loaded, but it's clear he doesn't want to turn his back on Simon, or Zoë, or Jayne, or Jayne's guns. Zoë looks to Simon one more time and he nods, just once, and she holsters her rifle and crosses the bay to close the door. The instant it's closed, Wash hurtles down the stairs to take her into his arms, grateful beyond belief that she's still breathing. She hugs him tightly then gently pushes him away. Wash turns, looks, and stares. 

Simon's still not moved. He's not even looking down at Mal's body. He's still gazing over at the closed bay doors. As they watch, he turns sharply on his heel and strides away, never looking back.

Jayne's looking angry. "Well, what we gonna do now? Ain't it in a doctor's job description to deal with bodies?"

"Jayne," Zoë reproves him, crossing the bay to crouch next to Mal. "Don't push the man. I've got this. You could help."

After a moment's silent consideration, Jayne slings Vera over his shoulder and comes over to help. Wash joins them, and together they carry the fallen captain through to the infirmary, where there's still no sign of Simon.

***

They send his body out to the stars. Zoë doesn't feel comfortable with the notion of burying him, even if they could find somewhere suitable to do it. Simon hasn't passed comment on the matter. Whenever any of the crew encounters him, he just gives them a preoccupied smile and passes on. No one's worked out where he goes. It's not the infirmary, though. They've kept vigil over the captain since the day he fell, and not one of them saw Simon visit. 

It's not much of a funeral. Jayne still gets edgy round the airlock, and doesn't want to hang around for long. Zoë's got some words to say, but she can't say many of them before her throat closes up and she falls silent, grasping Wash's hand so tightly her knuckles turn white. It's left to Inara to move through the small group and bid him farewell, hitting the button to open the airlock and free the makeshift coffin to begin its lonely journey through the endless black.

Kaylee looks up as the door begins to close again, blinking frantically to try to keep the tears away, and catches a glimpse of movement on the catwalk above. For an instant, Simon meets her eyes, and then moves on soundlessly without anyone else noticing.

***

Over the next week, Kaylee makes a point of hunting Simon out. Jayne would think he's no different to normal, but Kaylee can see the difference. He's more distant. Something's missing; some part of him that only appeared when the captain was around. That something that made him happy and relaxed. He's turning back into the man he was when he first boarded Serenity, reserved, formal, closed off. Save now he ain't got the release of River to worry on. Got no one to reach out and touch him, see into his soul and know how he's hurting. Kaylee knows he's hurting, even though he don't show it. She just don't know how to fix it. 

'Cause he don't talk about the captain. Not at all. If it weren't for that, she'd think he was fine. Like Jayne does. Zoë and Wash just let him be, much as they can, though Zoë's beginning to have thoughts. Kaylee can see that from the speculative look in Zoë's eyes when she sees Simon moving around the ship. Inara's worried on him, too. It's a week to the day since the funeral when Simon first mentions the captain. Kaylee's found him in the infirmary, and she thinks it's the first time he's been back in there, too. Seems right. Seems maybe he's coming back to himself. He fits, here, pottering about and fussing over the supplies stacked on the overfilled shelves. And that's when he says it. 

"Did Mal happen to mention to you when he's due back, Kaylee? I can't remember a job taking quite so long before."

She's not sure what to say at first. Simon's got his back to her, stretching to reach something on a high shelf, and he's acting like nothing's wrong. Not one gorram thing. She licks her lips, shifts on the stool, nervous of how he might react. "He, er, he ain't comin' back, Simon."

"What?" Simon glances back over his shoulder for a moment. "Don't be ridiculous, Kaylee. Of course he's coming back. Mal would never leave Serenity."

"Not if'n he had the choice, Simon, no. Don't you remember?" She looks up at him, willing him to turn around. After a moment, he does, brows furrowed in puzzlement.

"Remember what?"

"The funeral?"

"You mean River's funeral? It's a long time ago, Kaylee. Nearly four years. In fact, four years next month." He's looking all concerned now, like he's worried on her. 

Kaylee laces her fingers together in her lap. She never expected this to happen. Never thought she'd be the one to have to tell him. "Not that funeral, Simon. Cap'n's funeral."

"What?" His face is slipping now, calm beginning to break. "I don't -"

"He's dead, Simon," she interrupted desperately. "You was there, Wash told me, was 'bout a week back -"

"No!" Calm's gone completely. There's nothing left in his face but anger, and this ain't Simon, ain't the Simon who got on Serenity, ain't the Simon she flirted with, ain't the Simon as laughed with the captain, ain't even the Simon that's been haunting the ship this past week. She can't see anything of Simon in that cold, cold fury. "No, Kaylee, you're wrong! You must be wrong. He can't die! He's not dead. He's coming back. He has to come back!"

Simon advances on her and she slips off the stool, backing away. She ain't scared of Simon, so much, save this ain't him. Looks kinda like him, but this ain't him. She lets out a little cry as his hands close on her shoulders, and his face tightens further. "Say it, Kaylee. Tell me when he's coming back."

Tears sting her eyes. It's all too fresh, too new, hurts her too much, but she can't lie to him, not even to stop this, not to save herself, not to save him. "I can't, Simon," she chokes out. "Can't. He ain't never comin' back. He got shot."

"No!" He whirls away from her, arm sweeping across a counter to knock everything on it to the floor. She scrambles backwards frantically, running from the shards of breaking glass that Simon seems oblivious to, his shoulders heaving, and she reaches for the comm. Seems like he's ignoring her, caught up in wherever he is, and she's just grateful when Zoë answers the comm. from the bridge.

"Got a problem, Doc?"

"Ain't him, Zoë," Kaylee pants, eyes still fixed on Simon's figure. "Well, is kinda. Think he's noticin', like you said. Can you get down here?"

"You okay, Kaylee?"

"Just get here!" She lets go of the button and sidles across the room, hoping to make the doorway before Simon notices her again. If he's noticing anything else right now. There's blood dripping through his white shirtsleeve where one of those glass fragments hit him, and seeping from a slice on his face, too, but he ain't seeing her. Got kind of a glazed look in his eyes tells her he ain't seeing anything right that moment.

***

Jayne takes the stairs two at a time, Zoë hard on his heels. Should've known the doc would crack sometime. Man was as fā kuáng as his moonbrain sister had been. Ran in the blood. Ain't natural to just stand there over the body of someone you'd known and pretend like it ain't there. 

He stops in the door to the infirmary. Kaylee looks up at him, eyes wide and scared, and he hates the doc for putting that look back in her eyes again. Gonna be a real pleasure to take him down. Save maybe that ain't quite so easy as he thought it was gonna be, 'cause the doc's all twisty and squirmy and one hell of a lot stronger than he looks, and there's bits of broken stuff everywhere and pills and liquid under his boots making it hard to get a proper standpoint. "Zoë?"

She's there 'fore he can say any more, grabbing hold of the doc's right arm and twisting it up behind his back, but even that ain't stopping him, not even when Jayne wraps one powerful arm around his scrawny throat. "Let. Me. Go," he hisses, dropping his head to sink his teeth into Jayne's forearm, left hand coming up to scratch at Jayne's face. Figures the man would fight like a girl. Jayne jerks his head out of reach and meets Zoë's eyes.

Zoë glances back quickly, struggling to hold the doc still as he yanks at his arm in a way that's gotta hurt. Least, would hurt if there was an ounce of sense left in the man, but Jayne's finally seeing what it is Kaylee's been getting at all this week. There ain't no sense left in this man. Turns out he really did have some feeling for the captain after all, 'cause the only thing left in the doc's eyes is pain, and pain don't know sense, just knows pain.

"Kaylee," Zoë says quietly. "Second drawer down, at the back on the left."

Kaylee scrambles across the infirmary, making sure to keep herself the other side of the exam-couch to where Jayne and Zoë are still having to fight to hold onto the doc. Jayne don't blame her. Given the choice, he'd be over there himself, but there ain't no way Zoë's gonna be able to hold the doc on her own. Kaylee opens the drawer, face uncertain as her fingers find the syringe. "Got it."

Simon's still fighting hard, and it's all Jayne can do to keep hold of him, more so when Zoë frees one hand to take the syringe from Kaylee. "Hold him still, Jayne."

"Trying," Jayne forces out through gritted teeth, tightening his arm around the doc's neck and twisting his hand to get a good grip on the greasy hair that don't seem like it's been washed all week. And that ain't like the doc, man's usually more finicky than a cat regarding washing and being clean and all. "Man's slippery as a gorram mán yú. Can't get a good hold."

The doc's hands are faltering now, grip failing as the air's slowly choked from him, but he's still not giving in. "Take your hands off of me," he gasps, shoulders pushing back against Jayne's chest, and he can feel the bones of them, like there's nothing left to the doc but bones and the muscle to hold them together and to fight against Jayne.

"Nope," Jayne returns, and yanks the doc's head sideways so Zoë can push the needle against his neck. The doc's eyes roll back, flutter, then close, and suddenly Jayne's left holding a limp body that's stopped fighting. He lowers it to the floor with a lot more gentleness than he'd have used a half hour back, and meets Zoë's eyes, catching his breath. "What we gonna do with him now? Can't have a sāng xīn bìng kuáng wanderin' 'round the ship."

Zoë gives him a measured look. "He ain't crazy, Jayne. Just hurtin'. Which ain't to be wondered at."

Kaylee steps carefully across the floor from the corner she'd squashed herself into, and crouches down next to Simon, one hand hovering just next to his head. "Could see if maybe 'Nara's got any thoughts?"

***

Inara's filling the teapot for a second time when she hears the sounds of movement coming from the bed. Kaylee's across the room, curled up at one end of the couch. Her eyes have hardly left Simon's still body since she'd followed Jayne and Zoë into the shuttle. The gentle scent of jasmine rises as Inara sets the teapot down and unhurriedly crosses the shuttle to sit in the chair next to the bed.

Simon stirs, moans, and tries to bury his head between the pillows. Inara reaches out and gently lays a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension knotting his muscles below the soft jersey sweater. "Simon," she says softly.

Kaylee's come closer, now, and she crawls onto the bed behind him, tentatively stretching out a hand to touch his arm. "Simon?"

Simon lifts his head slowly, and Inara flinches inwardly at the sight of the bruising around his neck. Zoë had mentioned how hard he'd fought, but the evidence of the force Jayne had used to restrain him made the reality even harsher, somehow. Dark lashes part reluctantly, moisture keeping them clinging to each other until the last possible moment, and shadowed blue eyes meet hers. He swallows, winces, and twists over, pushing himself up until he's sitting in the middle of her bed. "Is it true?" he whispers hoarsely, silently pleading with her to deny it.

She nods calmly, trying hard to keep her own emotions in check, and his face crumples, tears spilling silently from his eyes as his breath catches in wrenching sobs. Kaylee moves closer, throwing her arms around his shoulders and hugs him tightly, her own ready tears running down her face to drip into his hair. After a few minutes, Simon pulls away, offering her a watery half-smile and rubbing his eyes in an attempt to clear them. "How?" he asks, still whispering. "And why don't I remember?"

"You will, Simon," Inara answers, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed. "In time. Zoë said you...he was shot." To her horror, her own voice is beginning to shake. She hasn't let herself grieve for him, hasn't let herself truly realize that he's gone. She's been too busy trying to comfort Kaylee, who's been too busy worrying about Simon. "Some bēi wēi de máng with that new contact got trigger happy and..." She stops, breathing deeply and blinking just a little too fast. "He'd have been proud of you, Simon. He would. Zoë said you went right ahead and finished the job."

"Inara..." He reaches out to her, but she can't meet his gaze. Can't bear to see him concerned about her, too. Not now. She sniffs and tosses her head a little, but he won't let her hide. "Inara," he repeats softly, voice rough from the tears and the half-strangulation Jayne inflicted on him. "You loved him, too."

She closes her eyes and presses her lips together hard to try to stop them trembling, and nods.

***

Memory returns to Simon in puzzle pieces, until he can re-assemble the entire picture. The crew all treats him differently, now. Except Jayne, who shows the same casual disrespect as before. Wash throws him awkward looks occasionally, but Zoë never even mentions Mal's name, and turns aside from any attempt to talk about him. Kaylee's the opposite, wanting nothing more than to talk endlessly, her memories bringing him back to life throughout the ship: in the engine room, the dining area, the kitchen, the infirmary, the common area, the lounge, the bridge...Mal is everywhere and nowhere. Inara offers her shuttle as a quiet haven, somewhere Simon can escape to and talk, or not, as he pleases.

That's where Zoë finds him, sitting in Inara's shuttle and sharing the last of her Earl Grey tea, not talking. Inara rises to her feet immediately and offers some tea to Zoë, but she just shakes her head and folds her long form into a delicate chair, fixing her gaze on Simon. "Running low on funds, Doctor," she says calmly. "We don't find a job soon, we ain't gonna be able to keep flying. Reckon it's time we took ourselves a new captain."

Simon pales and he sets down his teacup on the low table. "Of course," he replies evenly. "Just let me know when. I'll move out of the room, and I'll leave at the next port."

"Ain't what I'm meaning, Doctor. Ain't no need for you to move, or leave. Ain't gonna be taking on anyone new. Got ourselves a suitable captain here already."

"Let's be clear on this, Zoë." Simon leans forwards intently. Inara sits down again, skirts falling into an elegant cascade. "Are you proposing yourself as captain?"

Her eyes widen and she lets out an undignified snort of laughter. "Hell, no, Doctor! I mean you. Proved yourself already. Gonna do fine."

He's rather startled to find that she means it. She's got an answer for all of his arguments against it, and the support of Wash, Kaylee and Inara. Jayne's not so keen on the idea, but he's not willing to go up against Zoë to force the point. And Jayne doesn't announce any intention of leaving, so Simon figures that's practically approval. The biggest stumbling point is his status as a fugitive, but with Kaylee and Inara's help, he manages to construct a new identity, which will hold as long as he doesn't come up against any retinal scans or DNA tests, neither of which are common on the Rim, or even as far in as Persephone.

Between some information Inara wheedles out of one of her least favorite clients, and Kaylee's expertise, they manage to hack their way into the central database and create a clone identity, shifting Simon's birthday by a few days and changing the details of his place of birth and education. 

"Now," Kaylee says expectantly, fingers poised over the keyboard. "Just gotta get a name for you, then it's all done, an' we can get you registered as captain. So, what's it gonna be? Figure you should be okay keepin' hold of Simon, but..."

Simon leans over her shoulder to peer at the image on the screen. His ident photo is wearing a decidedly disgruntled expression, and he smiles softly. "Reynolds," he says quietly. "Simon Reynolds."

***

You walk the ship at night when you can't sleep (you watch him pace, shoulders hunched). You know he used to do this. You remember the nights when you woke alone, the bed cold, his gunbelt missing from the bedpost. Now it's your turn to walk the sleeping ship, noting the quiet sounds of Serenity. You make the same circuit every night: through the empty dining area, along to the engine room, down the stairs to the passenger quarters, past the infirmary (it's his place, always was), through the common area and into the echoing cargo bay. He walks with you (can't leave him now). You know he's there (he knows you're there). You always know. You climb the stairs and pass the shuttles, the subtle spice of incense escaping from Inara's door, and return along the corridor of the crew quarters to the bridge. This was his. Now, it's yours (all his). 

You'd rather it was his.

You turn your back on the endless black (he never liked to look) and Wash and Zoë's quiet murmurs, descending the steps and then the ladder into your bunk. The bed is cold, his gunbelt missing, and tonight he won't be coming back, but you know he's there. 

You slip your feet out of your shoes and slide into bed, the bed that's too big and too empty and too cold without him.

You know he's there.

You know he's there.

You _know_ he's there.

You know he's gone.

 

* * *

 

 ** _Translations:_**  
 _fā kuáng_ \- crazy, mad  
 _mán yú_ \- eel  
 _sāng xīn bìng kuáng_ \- madman  
 _bēi wēi de máng_ \- petty ruffian


End file.
